Wildwood Daze – The Union Jacks – Dirty John – Part 1

“Okay, He’s freaking out like a retard. Put him in his bed and we’ll go.”

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I had been to the restaurant where Brian our drummer worked part-time as a busboy. I don’t remember, but I had been there to meet up with him once for some reason. I do remember Brian telling me the bartender there liked my “friend with the big eyes.” (Me.) I don’t remember that person and quickly dismiss it in my mind.

One night Brain wants to bring us to the restaurant where he works for drinks. We get there and the band sits at the bar. Brian introduces us to the bartender, Frank. Or, as Brian calls him, Frank the Fag. Now I get it. Frank fancies me. It’s a compliment, but I’m straight.

We all order bottles of beer. Frank is being Frank but he’s nice as could be. We’re all just chilling at the bar and it’s nice to all go out and have a drink as a band. It’s like we’re somebody now. People recognize us when we’re out and I like it.

We’re sitting there for about an hour chatting about music, when Frank presents me with not one, but two large tumblers filled with a frothy pink liquid.

“What’s this?”

“It’s called a Dirty John.”

“Thank you, but I never drink hard liquor. I just don’t do it. I’m a beer guy only.”

“I’ll drink it!”

Jim is the youngest and newest member of the band. I think he wants to show that he’s a bad ass that can hang with the older guys.

“That’s really not necessary Jim.”

“No. I want to.”

Jim proceeds to chug the drinks.

We settle up and walk outside. Brian and Mark say they’ll bring the car around. I’m smoking a cig waiting with Jim. Brian doesn’t allow smoking in his car so we wait.

“I gotta take a piss.”

“You could have gone in the bar, Jim. Actually, I gotta go too. Beer goes right through me. There’s some tall hedges behind the restaurant. Let’s go back there.”

We walk back and are standing next to each other as if we’re just a couple of students pissing in the urinals in the Boys bathroom at Wildwood High. I suddenly hear this rustling noise and a thump. I glance to my right and Jim has vanished. I zip up my fly and go to the spot where he was.

There’s Jim, face down in the next yard. While pissing he literally just collapsed forward between the hedges. What the fuck was in that drink? Whatever it was, it hit him like a sledgehammer.

Brian and Mark pull up in his yellow ’77 Ford Mustang II.

“What the fuck’s up with Wolfie?” (Brian sometimes referred to Jim as ‘ Wolfie’ because the way he brushed his hair back, it resembled Lon Chaney’s monster.)

“Guys get over here!”

Brian and Mark scramble from the car and run over. We get Jim to his feet and he is just gone. Slurring and stumbling and we get him to the car. It takes all three of us.

“He went from buzzed to black out in a matter of seconds!”

Brian’s driving. Mark’s riding shotgun, and of course I’m in the back with drunk boy. He’s really out of it. Conscious, but super fucked up. More drunk than I’ve ever seen anyone ever in my life.

Brian’s driving him back to his house. “He better not fuckin’ puke in my car! I swear to god!”

We get to Jim’s house and I’m about to get him out and he pukes all over me. He doesn’t even know I’m there. Now I’m wearing the Dirty John meant for me.

Thankfully his parents weren’t home when we dragged our new guitarist back into his house.

We carry him through the door, in front of at least a half dozen siblings. They all look on in utter horror. I assure them their brother isn’t dead. He’s just sick and we’re taking care of him.

The kids know me from school. I’m the kid that comes and waits for Jim each morning and lets my glasses steam up while watching the Today show waiting for my friend so we can walk to school together.

 

It’s a mess. The little kids are clueless. We are simply a group of guys bringing their older brother home because he’s sick. Everything’s fine. Just like in any household in the 70’s. It didn’t happen.

We bang Jim up the stairs to his bedroom. When I say, bang I mean he was dead weight and me, Brian and Mark did the best to get him to his room.

This is all new ground for all of us. We’re new musicians, but we don’t know anything about but extreme behavior even if it’s accidental.

My best friend is so sick. I am wearing his puke. We try to run his head under the shower to revive him. He cries out like a molested child so we withdrawal.

“Okay, He’s freaking out like a retard. Put him in his bed and we’ll go.”

Brian was always so pragmatic.

“Turn him over on his stomach.” (I say) Put his face at the edge of the bed.”

“Why?”

“Umm… Bon Scott….” (See: Tales of Rock – Bon Scott) 

“He’ll be fine.”

” Dude. Hendrix died choking on his own puke.”

“He’ll be fine.”

We leave our lead guitarist in his bed and all go home. It’s bee a fucked up night.

My best friend got poisoned by a drink meant for me. What was Frank’s plan? Get me drunk beyond recognition and take advantage of me? That’s kind of evil.

But the worst part of it is… Was Brian in on it?

 

 

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Tales of Rock – Bon Scott

Ronald Belford “Bon” Scott (9 July 1946 – 19 February 1980) was a Scottish-Australian singer and songwriter, best known for being the primary lead vocalist and lyricist of the Australian hard rock band AC/DC from 1974 until his death in 1980.[1]

Scott was born in Forfar, Scotland, and raised in Kirriemuir, before moving to Melbourne with his family in 1952 at the age of six. They lived in the suburb of Sunshine for four years before moving to Fremantle.[1] Scott formed his first band, The Spektors, in 1964 and became the band’s drummer and occasional lead vocalist. He performed in several other bands including The Valentines and Fraternity before replacing Dave Evans as the lead singer of AC/DC in 1974.[1]

AC/DC’s popularity grew throughout the 1970s, initially in Australia, and then internationally. Their 1979 album Highway to Hell reached the top twenty in the United States, and the band seemed on the verge of a commercial breakthrough. However, on 19 February 1980, Scott died after a night out in London. AC/DC briefly considered disbanding, but the group recruited vocalist Brian Johnson of the British glam rock band Geordie. AC/DC’s subsequent album, Back in Black, was released only five months later, and was a tribute to Scott. It went on to become the second best-selling album in history.[1]

In the July 2004 issue of Classic Rock, Scott was rated as number one in a list of the “100 Greatest Frontmen Of All Time” ahead of Freddie Mercury and Robert PlantHit Parader ranked Scott as fifth on their 2006 list of the 100 Greatest Heavy Metal Vocalists of all time.[3]

 

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Wildwood Daze – Spring of 1980 – The Union Jacks – Part 2

Look at Chaz in his black outfit, with his ’79 Black Ibanez Iceman, rocking out for the kids. Baby steps.

 

We get our first gig at Margaret Mace Elementary and Middle School. We’re going to play for the kids in middle school. 12, 13, 14 year old kids.

Jim went to this school, and knows the faculty. He was good student, but my dear friend is an older man in high school now. He’s in Wildwood High now with me and Mark the bassist.

Incidentally I will add this side note. My Uncle Jack was valedictorian from the first graduating class of Margaret Mace. My father told me he never cracked a book. Just a brilliant charming dude.

Love him forever.

I wish I were his son. Just neglect me and let me play rock and be in the music industry.

I think family genetics get mixed up but great creativity came from pain and oppression so I’m fine with where I came from.

All the best art comes from the oppressed. Under Jack I may have just ended up a privileged asshole so I’m fine with where my soul landed.

I’m terrified to do our first show. But it’s a bunch of young kids in an auditorium. I can’t eat before the show for fear of throwing up. No one in the band knows about my severe anxiety problem.

They’re ready to rock these kids and take this band for a test drive.

I’m terrified, but we’ve rehearsed everything and have our whole set list ready. Brian would write out the set list and tape it to the floor in front of every one of us so we knew what was going to happen. I always felt comfort in that, so thank you Bri.

If I just could get through the first song I’d be fine. We got this. We always opened with Freeway Jam, I think by Jeff Beck. It was just a cool song we could run licks on and warm up to get the audience going.

It’s funny because almost every blues act does the same thing. They come out and jam for a bit and then get into their real shit with singing and hits. We did the same thing as a fledgling band automatically. It just worked for us so we could warm up and get to the songs.

We hit our groove, and Brian is always the constant professional showman we need to carry us forth.

He’s just great. He is clearly the leader of this band and we let him have the reigns. He carries us through our show with tight drumming and great vocals and showmanship.

Brian is clearly the leader of this band, but he can’t do it without me, the creative songwriter, cute, rock star one, Jim, the sizzling lead guitarist, and Mark, his flexible tone deaf puppet, carrying the rhythm.

It’s Brian’s band and it’s always been Brian’s band, but today he’s a little outnumbered. The audience has me and Jim rocking out on our guitars in the front.

Thats who the audience adores.

I’m just trying to hold it together and hit all of the right notes.

However, I’ve brought several guitar picks with me and I am throwing them out to the kids in the audience.

I’ve lived this exact scenario as a kid. If there was some rock band playing and I could be a part of it, I would attach myself to that in a second. I knew that even though I was playing rock at a middle school I had to go full on rock star. Because that’s what I wanted to be.

I bought tons of guitar picks before the show and threw dozens into the crowd knowing the result. The kids went crazy. Brian picked up on this and tossed drumsticks into the audience and they fought over them.

Back in 1979-1980 the song by JJ. Cale that became a hit by Eric Clapton had become a hit. It was all over the radio. It was called Cocaine.

Huge hit. We covered the song because it was wildly popular that year. People loved it.

Should we have played Cocaine to a bunch of 13-year-old kids? Probably not. We didn’t even think about it at the time. It was just a hit. But to play that for a bunch of kids in middle school, we probably should have deleted from the set list.

I can tell you that we did the chorus…. “She don’t like, She don’t like, She don’t like…..

The kids would shout: COCAINE!

We had know idea.

Union Jacks were already a dangerous band. (We were just playing what was popular on the radio. (Should we have reviewed the set list before playing in front of a bunch of kids….yea probably)

We’re nearing the end of our set. (The kids are going wild) The Vice Pincipal walks onstage and tells us we’re done.

Brand new young lead guitarist Jim and former alum literally pushed him off the stage…

“We’re not done yet.”

He launches into “My Generation” by the The Who, which to me is my favorite song Jim ever performed with our band. It just seemed so arrogant. It just seemed to embody my best friend.

We close out the show and I think maybe Jim busted up his Strat for show.

We never fucked around with our equiptment but because I spent $500 of my busboy money on my sweet guitar I always treated like my best girl. But Jim beat his Strat into the bass drum that day. It was a pot CBS Strat so I knew that bolt on neck would hold and could be fixed.

 

We promise to meet up later to review and revel.

By the end of the show I had a headache from not eating/not puking/anxiety/ I walked home and sat at the kitchen table with my mom.

“How was the show?”

“I should probably eat something.”

“PBJ rock star?”

“That would be lovely, mom. I think we did good but we may have played some songs that not everybody liked.”

“Well you have to expect that in rock and roll. You think Elvis cared?”

I knew my mom cried when Elvis died, but in that moment I knew my mom, even though she wouldn’t go to my shows, was proud of me.

She got it.

She just was so afraid of watching me fail.

I didn’t care. I was just happy I didn’t puke on stage because of my anxiety.

I did it. I made it.

Knock at the door. Mark and Brain are there.

One Bufferin and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich later…

“Hey guys. Thanks for bring my gear home.

Mark: “I feel like a fuckin roadie.”

Chaz: Welcome to real rock and roll. We just played a real gig and rocked the fuck out. I know it was to a bunch of kids, but we’ve got something here an got paid! ”

Mark: “Some kids recorded the whole concert on tape recorders.”

Chaz: ” Really? We have to hear them!”

Brian: “Yea. We have more gigs coming up.”

Chaz: “Cool man. We’re going to the top!”

Brian: “Oh, these are for you. Looks like you’re pretty popular.”

He hands me a stack of slips of paper with girls names and phone numbers on them.

IT’S STARTING….

I have finally arrived.

I read them all and can’t believe that after all of this time of being a loser this is happening now.

A bunch of 11, 12 and 13 year old girls want to meet me.

I throw them all in the wastebasket in my bedroom.

Because all of these lovelies are minors. Sadly this is something that will haunt me my entire life.

 

 

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Ambria – Chapter 16 – Atlantic City – Part 4

Sorry…. NSFW

Go here people…

https://lapetitemort17.wordpress.com/?p=562

 

 

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Ambria – Chapter 15 – Atlantic City – Part 3

I did. I hope she enjoyed it. It sounded like she did but I don’t hear so well when my ears are locked between a pair of caramel thighs.

Sunday night was amazing. We got down here and her place is great. I did to her what I told her I was going to do. I like to give. She knows what that is and she says she likes to give as well. But we were there in her lovely efficiency at the Ritz Carlton in Atlantic City after our long days of work and the journey here. I want to please her. The cocktails are flowing and the dating is done. She has seen to that. It’s time for the you and me. We’re both tired but our desire is there and I really want to give her a reward before we retire at her lovely place.

I did. I hope she enjoyed it. It sounded like she did but I don’t hear so well when my ears are locked between a pair of caramel thighs.

I do my best and we fall into a satisfied sleep.

I awake the next morning and we’re both tired but want to head out onto the boardwalk in Atlantic City to people watch but get some food and drink.

I drank vodka from 5 to 8 last night before she picked me up. It took the edge off what was happening. The cheating, the new girl, the new place, AC, and the holiday. All nightmares to phicklephilly.

But I will soldier forth and have sex with two different women and love them both equally and make it work. I’m insane. Stop reading this blog now.

 

Lovely Ambria is so affable. So chill. This is a dating blog but it’s been two years and we made love three times that morning before we left the house.

Ambria has told me on our other dates that her fallopian tubes don’t line up so she can never have kids. That’s heartbreaking for everyone except me. I’ve paid $125k in child support to and absolute monster so if the planes are clear to fly with no babies, I’m ready to roll. I will send whatever boys I have left into the valley of joy as many times I can as long they are safe every time.

Ambria can’t get pregnant so I can have the best super sex with her that every man on Earth wants everyday. It’s 4th of July weekend, I’m at a sweet condo with a gorgeous lady that has pretty much brought me here to close, so yes. Let it roll. And roll we do.

We get down to some serious intimate love and we create some new positions.

You all know, when you have amazing sex in the morning your day can never suck after that.  It’s impossible.

Think of it. Oh my God, I got fired today… I did have mad sex this morning with Jennifer Lopez. Ah… I’ll find another job.

Everybody on all of the dating sites on Earth just wants to make mad love to someone who loves them.

That’s it.

I know there’s a whole bunch of responsibility in a relationship. I’m a parent I get it. Shut the fuck up. You all want that electric sex to light up again.

That shit is gone in your life. It ‘s okay. The brightest stars burn out early. Supernovas are so bright and then are gone. Jimi, Janis, Jim, Kurt.

I once talked to a friend of mine why everybody was so fixated on food all of the time, and he said it’s because we can’t have sex all of the time.

That dude may have been right, but he makes a good point. You’re trying to fill that hole in your life with everything else that isn’t real love and sex.

That’s what everybody wants. Don’t lie to yourself.

If you could have that sweet man or woman in your life that you could just be easy with and be yourself with you would love that.  They accept you. You can just hang out and it’s easy. No trouble. A balance.

Beyond the mortgage, the car payments, the utilities and an all of the kid, shit you really dug each other… that would be a solid relationship.

That’s what everybody wants.

Simple.

So here we are. We wake up in the same bed. The space is lovely. It’s here. But I could live in a space like this forever. I see this efficiency as a model for the rest of my life and I’m dead serious. If Lorelei moves out, I’m going to get a place that looks exactly like this.

Thank you Ambria, for clarifying my future housing to me.

Maybe Ambria and I are meant to travel together.

We both decide that we need to clean up and go walk the boardwalk and get some food and drinks.

She allows me to shower first and we are good sex/travel partners. I love to go first.  (The water is hot, and I’m in and out)

What’s great about this room is that is very old hotel room. The shower head has that dial on it that goes from shower stream, to pulsating jets, to sharp skin drilling streams.

I love this feature but feel the pain as the jets hit me in places that laser jets of water shouldn’t hit my genitals like a hose at an early sixties racial uprising.

We’re both happy we have finally consummated our little dating relationship. I mean I hope we have, but I adore Ambria, and this shit is destiny.

Ambria is the architect of this holiday weekend and she’s gotten what she came for. It happened three times this morning and now here we are. We’ve had a lovely. romantic courtship and now we’ve gone to her shore house to have loads of hot sex.

Phicklphilly is a dating blog, but that’s what happened.

Two of my sisters read this blog and I’m sorry Janice and Gabrielle, but I need the followers so I’ll deal with this at Janice’s annual holiday party.

How about we never talk about it ever again and if I show up with an attractive woman at Christmas and just pretend you know nothing. Because you won’t know which one it is and you’ll blow my cover.

 

Lovely Ambria and I wander out onto the Atlantic City Boardwalk. It’s a warm sunny day. A people watching feast.

Time to go find some hot food and some cold beer.

 

 

 

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Ambria – Chapter 14 – Atlantic City – Part 2

I know what’s going to happen over the next two days. I’m ready, and I hope it goes well and our chemistry continues in a brief domestic space. I am going to her place. I’ve never been there before. I don’t know what to suspect. But I can handle it. It’s a couple of days in Atlantic City with a beautiful young woman. How bad is my life?

I’m munching my sandwich in the Jeep and the trip is rolling along. It’s late, but I don’t care.

“I need a drink after this day.”

“Sounds like a plan, Ambria.”

We finally pull into the parking lot of the Ritz Carlton Residences in AC. This place is glorious. Such history. The summer heat has been upon us in the city for the last week, but as I roll down the window, I catch the vivid fragrance of the sweet sea air. The seashore has been part of my being since childhood, and even though I have just rolled into the dying sin city of the east coast, I smile and breathe deeply. I had forgotten as hot as the city gets it’s always cooler at the shore. That’s part of the reason people come to the seashore. The cool breeze is wonderful.

It’s glorious.

I’m alive.

We park and unload her Jeep. We’re like every other tourist at this moment. Tired, and hauling our gear up to our room. I’m happy to be here. She’s relieved we’re finally here after a long day for both of us. Ambria, says hello to the staff as we make our way to the elevator.

The Ritz-Carlton Hotel Company announced its intention to build a hotel in Atlantic City in 1911. The Ritz-Carlton was designed by New York architect Charles D. Wetmore and constructed by the Thompson-Starrett CompanyOpened on June 21, 1921, it was erected at a cost of $6,250,000 (almost $70 million in 2010 dollars), less than the original $8 million projected. Located at the end of Iowa Avenue, the building has 131 feet of Boardwalk frontageis 222 ft (68 m) tall, and has 18 stories.

At the building’s dedication, hotel president Richard Harris stated “We are out to do business with the average American citizen without regard to race, religion or politics”. But the Ritz-Carlton soon became a haunt for the well-off, the hotel exuding wealth and status. Many features were state-of-the-art or unique among hotels at the time. They included fresh and salt-water faucets for both hot and cold water in each room, an on-site artesian well for spring water, pantries on each landing to speed room service, and elevators with walls of rubber and floors of cork so that bathers’ could bypass the lobby.

The hotel’s restaurants were the Ritz, the Trellis Room, and the Ritz Grill, an outdoor dining terrace overlooking the ocean, and a merry-go-round shaped bar. The Maude Earl Room, a writing room adjoining the parlor, housed rare and antique art.

During the Depression in 1937 the owners defaulted on the mortgage and the Ritz Carlton was reorganized under bankruptcy. The hotel was one of many in the city to be used as military barracks for soldiers in training and recuperation during World War II. After the war it was sold to Schine Hotels in the 1940s and then to Sheraton Hotels in 1959, becoming The Sheraton Ritz-CarltonThe Ritz was converted to an apartment hotel in June 1969. In 1978, an investor group purchased the building intending to convert it to a hotel and casino. However, unfavorable publicity linking it to the Abscam investigation ended that plan. Senator Harrison A. Williams (D-N.J.) told an undercover FBI agent that he could help save the investors $30 million by allowing them to renovate the existing property, rather than building a new one. Williams’ wife was a paid consultant and shareholder in Hardwicke Companies, the majority investor in the project, and Williams expected to receive a $1 million finder’s fee for helping arrange financing for the project. Williams was later convicted on unrelated charges. In 1982, approximately $25 million was spent converting it to 322 residences and six commercial suites, of which some are full-time residences and others are vacation homes. At the same time, the newly re-established Ritz-Carlton Hotel Company paid the building’s owners to abandon use of the Ritz-Carlton name, to avoid confusion with their hotels. The building has operated since then as The Ritz Condominiums.

We get to the room and it’s perfect. A classic seashore efficiency. I think if Lorelei didn’t live with me in Rittenhouse, if I could find a place like this, I’d do it. I walk through the door, and the air conditioning is already on. To my left is a big row of closets. Plenty of storage. To my right is a sweet little kitchenette. Refrigerator, microwave mounted to the cabinetry, a stove, sink, cutlery drawers and lower cabinets for whatever else. There’s a cream-colored convertible sofa. The queen-sized bed is off to my right against the wall beyond the kitchenette.

There is an easy chair to my left which looks really comfy, and is parked in front of a 36″ flat screen TV. By the window is a little table with two chairs. I open the blinds and from her window I have a lovely northern view of the boardwalk and the Atlantic Ocean.

This place is absolutely perfect.

“What made you choose a place in AC?”

“Well we both know that Atlantic City is struggling right now so I got this place for a song and this is a town that enjoys adult fun and I don’t like kids.”

“Good call.”

I start mixing the cocktails. This place is great. I make myself a vodka club, and she says make her a screwdriver.

“Do you want a single or a double and do you want straight up or rocks?”

“Use my crazy flavored vodka and just put the OJ in for color”

Ok. Baby wants to get her drunk on.

That happens and we have a wonderful time. I think about how the first time I kissed Ambria. When We really kissed passionately outside the Ranstead Room.

That girlfriend kiss.

Ambria told me that night that she was a giver and a pleaser. She’s a nurse, I get it. I told her I wanted to give to her first and I did that after a few drinks that first night. I’m assuming her squeals of delight were a positive review.

 

 

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Ambria – Chapter 13 – Atlantic City – Part I

I got a text from Ambria on Friday asking if I would still be willing to be her “travel companion” to AC on Sunday evening.

I told her that I certainly was.

I worked at the salon on Sunday, (like always) and finished around 4:30. I had a bag packed and was ready to go. But then I remembered that Ambria wouldn’t get done until 7:30. She told me she asked if she could skip out a little early, but that was a no go.

So I stopped at the liquor store and picked up some party favors for the next two days. I put them into my bag and went home. I figured if she didn’t get done until 7:30 she wouldn’t get to down to Philly until 8:30.  So what was I supposed to do for the next 3 hours? Netflix and cocktails?

Done.

So I settled in front of my laptop and lit a cig. I burned a candle and opened the windows so as to not smoke out the place. I was a little nervous about going to the shore for two days with Ambria. I liked her well enough and thought she was a chill girl. But I was just having some initial mission jitters. I knew a little alcohol would knock the edge off of that problem. It would also pass the time so it wouldn’t feel like I was waiting as long as I thought I’d be.

I didn’t get a text from her until 9:30! It was going to be a long night. She pulls up in her Jeep a block away and I hop in with my bag. She apologizes for being so late, but I have a decent buzz on and I’m fine with it all.

She tells me she likes to take the Black Horse Pike to AC and I’m a fan. Like the rest of the world I take the Atlantic City Expressway and the Garden State Parkway only because they are fastest and shortest route to the shore points, but I like this better because we’re in no rush even at this late hour. It’s Sunday, so all of the tourists already took off to the shore on Thursday night or Friday, so there shouldn’t be any traffic. The traffic is always the worst part of going to the shore, hands down. If you leave when everybody else goes it’s a nightmare. If you come back when everybody comes back to Philly, second nightmare. Just endless tail lights for miles. Too many cars and not enough road.

But like I said, it’s late now and everybody’s already down there so we should be good. Ambria looks beautiful and I’m happy to see my baby. It’s a cool Jeep and she handles it well. It’s a stick and I dig a girl who can handle a 5 speed. She’s a good driver and I’m very calm and happy.

She says she likes taking the old routes to the shore because you can always stop along the way. Stretch your legs, hit a Wawa or a diner and most important, a liquor store for treats.

She tells me last night was a late night at the hospital and she barely had time to go to the store and pack, but she tells me she’s good. She has a bottle of Chardonnay, (Which she bought for me because she knows that’s what I drink when I’m with her) I like that. She also has a bottle of some sort of crazy mango/peach flavored vodka that’s like 70 proof and shit I never drink. But girls like that stuff.

I tell her I’ve packed a 1.75 bottle of Platinum 7X Vodka and a liter of club soda, so we have nothing to worry about in the booze department. Ambria is happy that I’ve brought party favors.

It’s been a very long time since I went to the shore this way on these “back roads” but I dig all the sites. All of the old roadside places, and a million places to stop if you want anything from fresh fruit at a stand to fast food, or a crazy diner. I dig Americana so I’m delighted by this route.

We stop at a Wawa on the way and both hit the restroom. I need to eat, so I get a sandwich, chips, a soda and some Tastycakes. (A Philly tradition!) She grabs a coffee and a bag of ice. I love this girl.

We’re back on the road and the time is passing just right. I’m happy to be with her and grateful to be on this journey with lovely Ambria.

I think about what’s happening here. I’ve been in a relationship with my girlfriend, Cherie for 8 months. I love her very much. I know our schedules are crazy busy and conflicted. She has so much on her plate right now, I’m sure she’s stressed out. I actually hope she’s doing something fun for the 4th of July with friends and family as the red Jeep rolls towards its destination. The destination that was inevitable. Did I start seeing Ambria to fill in the blanks when I can’t be with my love, Cherie?

No. I’m fine with my relationship with Cherie. I did this because I write a dating blog and I could. But Ambria isn’t just another suck date that I’m bored out of my mind going out with. I really like Ambria. I love them both equally in different ways.

I know when she asked me what I was doing for Independence Day she had a plan. I’ve known it for a while. We talked about sex and our mutual attraction on our second date at El Rey and the Ranstead Room. That was some hot magic. There was real chemistry there. But I told her I wanted to wait and get to know her, but she had already made up her mind. That’s what a woman does. They know. Once a woman makes up her mind that you’re a candidate, it’s not a matter of if, it’s just a matter of when.

Traffic is light. The highway before me is wide open. Like lovely Ambria’s caramel thighs in the coming days. (No pun intended)  I sort of don’t have a choice here. Once I agreed to being her “traveling companion” this holiday weekend, I committed to following through what she has been wanting for so long. Once I agreed to this two-day jaunt I knew we would consummate our relationship. It was an opportunity for her to make the sex happen.

She made jokes earlier in the week about me staying at her condo at the beach with her. Her sleeping in her bed and me crashing on her couch. Funny, but I knew she had already decided and planned on this happening some time ago. And don’t get me wrong here, I am far from the victim here.

You can’t rape the willing.

 

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